


Perspective

by ZomBrie



Series: Ghosts of Sinner's Past [3]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Gen, Gender Neutral, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Reader-freeform, and we're breaking the pov rule, if you squint you might see some clues as to what's really going on here, it's bound to happen from time to time in this series, minor description of death, we're playing the pronoun game here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZomBrie/pseuds/ZomBrie
Summary: Alucard is caught between the past and the present as he watches you sleep[Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]





	Perspective

Light wood with straight, decorative shapes made of a sort of dark brown shade of paint- _walls covered in a soft olive-green rather fetching to the eye;_ a large, crimson rug nearly takes up the entirety of the floor, and all along the surface are numerous leaves and floral pieces woven in with a shimmering gold thread- _geometric arrangement of wooden pieces slotted together to form a chevron style pattern, no rug, no runner;_ there are no windows here, and all of the lights are off, but the harsh glow of the television fends off the darkness- _there is one window there and it’s attached to the double balcony doors, sheer drapes cascading over the cold glass to block out the outside from coming in;_ you curled up on the microfiber couch with a plush throw sprawled across your lap and up to your chin, sound asleep in a slumber so deep- _her nestled under a patchwork quilt, her hands resting on her stomach with fingers entwined. He sees the golden band on her left ring finger._

Alucard _instinctively_ knows where he’s at, knows the time and the day and who he’s looking at exactly, but his mind is trapped in between two separate visuals.

In between the living and the dead.

Because he sees them in you, these ghosts from his past, and here in the dark in one of the manor’s many recreation rooms when the clock reads two and everyone’s asleep, his mind is running wild and he can’t help but to look at you and see them.

It’s in the shape of your eyes, in the bridge of your nose, in the corner of your mouth is where they lie, and he hates you for it. He hates the fact that you serve as a constant, living and breathing reminder of his failure, of their betrayal; hates the fact that you look like _him_ yet you act like **her** , and that you dare to embrace her name as if it’s a banner you carry just to spite Alucard. Just to mock him. 

But what does this old monster resent the absolute most out of this entire shitty situation? What is it that sends molten, searing rage racing through his body until it boils his blood and throbs in his teeth? 

You’re not even aware of it. Any of it. Your alleged lineage, the maybe explanation as to why you can supposedly interact with ghosts, the indirect connection you might share with the major players of this twisted game of hereditary politics and guess who… of all of these you are completely ignorant to, making you just as much of a pawn as he is, and these factors links the two of you even more. 

(Yet again something else that he detests.) 

… He could finish this. Alucard could put an end to it all right here right now; yes sir Integra would be furious with him, and the Hellsing/Holmward alliance would be rendered null and void if he did… but you’d be dead. Your presence couldn’t offend him any longer- their voices promptly silenced and banned from his sleep- and he could be free from the emotional pain and the mental anguish and all of those dark, dark memories. 

Force a finish line on this disgusting aristocrat’s sport by wrapping his talons around the column of your throat and giving it a slow, agonizing twist. (His fingers twitch, flex, lip peels back over a fang, and he can feel his long dead heart give a few beats.) 

You mumble something incoherent with a thick voice, and you turn on to your side facing away from the television. And him. 

The temptation is there, he’ll never be ashamed to admit that… however, he leaves you be. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t entertain the idea a moment longer. Just turns away from your sleeping form to leave you with the television’s blue-ish light, and quietly exits the room. 

You’re not worth the effort _or_ the trouble. 

**Author's Note:**

> a/u: ah geez.. i've been stuck in a month-long writing slump, so this is.. not top quality. but it feels appropriate to give you guys a better PERSPECTIVE (ba dum cha) on the ol count's side of things. so here ya go.


End file.
